twilight remake edwardxjessica
by elsannafan55
Summary: if you guys like it I'll continue. But basically the same story as twilight but a few lgbt characters and Bella and Jessica switch roles with some changes thrown it. But please tell me if you would like me to continue
1. first sight

Preface

I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.

1\. First Sight

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. Though it was January everywhere else, it was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix and the sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite tank top; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. I wouldn't be needing tank tops anymore.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this insignificant town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its depressing gloom that my mom escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been forced to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Jeffrey, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

Yet, somehow, I now found myself exiled back to Forks for the rest of my high school education. A year and a half. Eighteen months. Of course, this was my choice. It was a self-imposed exile, but that didn't make it any easier.

I loved Texas. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the music and the lights at night.

"Jess," my mom said to me—the last of a thousand times—before I boarded the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mother and I look so much alike; the same shaped face, the same nose, the same pale blue eyes. No one would doubt we're mother and Daughter. I felt an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes that were so like mine. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Was leaving my mom the right thing to do? It seemed like it was, during the months I'd struggled toward this decision. But now, in this moment, it felt all kinds of wrong.

Of course she had Kevin now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"Iwantto go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Jeffrey I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want—I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I walked through the gate, got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a three-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a smaller plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Jeffrey, though, I was a little worried about.

Jeffrey had really been pretty decent about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it would be awkward. Neither of us was what anyone would call outgoing, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision— like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my disdain for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen, just an inevitability. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Jeffrey was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was also expecting. Jeffrey is Police Chief Stanley to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on the top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

I stumbled off the plane into Jeffrey's awkward, one-armed hug.

"It's good to see you, Jess," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Carrie?

"Mom's great. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't supposed to call him Jeffrey to his face.

I only had a few bags. Most of my Texas clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap." he announced when we were strapped into the cruiser and on our way.

"What kind of car?" I asked, suspicious of the way he said "good carfor you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's actually, a Mustang."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the small Native American reservation on the nearby coastline.

"Not really, sorry."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Jeffrey prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Jeffrey continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me the Car cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from the change in his expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's son has done a lot of work on the engine— it's only a few years old, really."

Did he really think I would give up that easily?

"When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties— or late fifties at the earliest," He admitted sheepishly.

"Jef— Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic..."

"Really, Jess, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore." Plus me and Billy made improvements.

The thing,I thought to myself…it had possibilities—as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, hun, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Jeffrey glanced sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Jeffrey had never been comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's amazing, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth—or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green—an alien planet.

Eventually, we made it to Jeffrey's. He still lived in the small, two bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had—the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new—well, new to me—car. It was a faded red color, with flames pained on the side and nitrogen flames on the back. Hmm looks like Billy and Jeffrey had toned it up I was going to have fun with this.

And, to my surprise, I loved it. I had always seen myself in something small and sporty. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those old fashioned mustangs and I love old fashioned mustangs to me they looked alot better than the ones now days not that the new ones were bad.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" I was genuinely enthused about the car. Not only was it perfect, now I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," Jeffrey said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the blue checkered curtains around the window—these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Jeffrey had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Jeffrey, but I'd had to share with my mom before, and she had a lot more stuff. This would be fine.

One of the best things about Jeffrey is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to come to terms with how quickly everything had just changed, and when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had just three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty eight—students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids there had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the city, something to stare at and whisper about.

Maybe, if I had been one of the cool kids—had a little more confidence in myself—I could work this to my advantage. But I certainly wasn'tthatgirl. I was always different from the other girls in my school. I wasn't the cheerleading star, not the class president, not the class clown. I was the kid who got shoved into lockers until her sophomore year. The kid who was too quiet, and too pale.

Despite the constant sunshine of Texas, I was still ivory-skinned and I had always been on the leaner side, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself—and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror as I ran my hands through my damp, dark hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked paler, if that was possible.

Facing my glum reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I had managed to calm myself down. The constantwhooshing of the rain and the wind across the roof wouldn't fade in the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Jeffrey was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Jeffrey left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three un-matching chairs and examined the small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining modestly sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Jeffrey and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at—maybe I could get Jeffrey to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Jeffrey had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable and a little sad.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket—thick, non-breathing plastic, like a biohazard suit—and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my car again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around in the air.

Inside the car, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Jeffrey had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a car this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a bonus that I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult; like most other things, it was just off the highway. It wasn't totally obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be Forks High School, clued me in. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered sarcastically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. N0 one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Jessica Stanley," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of papers on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, Jessica, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

"Um, it's Jess, please."

"Oh, sure, Jess."

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Jeffrey, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my car, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath.It won't be that bad, I lied to myself feebly. This wasn't life or death—just high school. It's not like anyone was going to bite me.

I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with other students. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt a knot begin to form in my stomach as I approached the door. I took a deep breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name—not an encouraging response—and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed.

I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a pale, skinny girl with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Jessica Stanley, aren't you?" She gave off the vibe of the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Jess," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" she asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way.…" Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Erica," she added.

I managed a smile. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Texas, huh?" she asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Well it does just not as Much as forks."

"Wow, what must that be like?" she wondered.

"Sunny," I told her.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

She studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Erica followed me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," she said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." She sounded hopeful.

I smiled at her vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have disliked anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each room. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

In every class, the teacher started out calling me Jessica, and though I corrected them immediately, it was frustrating. It had taken me years to live down Jessica—my mom thought it sounded regal. I comforted myself with the knowledge that she chose Jessica over Alenna, her second choice. No one at home even remembered that Jess was just a nickname anymore. Now I had to start all over again.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was taller than me, several inches talker than my five feet one inches, with long, straight, dark-brown hair. Her bubbling, energetic personality almost seemed to make up the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she rattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me—couldn't complain about the manners here. Overwhelmed by the rush of new information, I forgot all their names as soon as she said them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The girl from English, Erica, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike.

There were four boys; one was big— muscled like a serious weight lifter, at least six-five or taller, with dark, curly hair. The one sitting next to him was only slightly shorter, but still well-muscled—clearly the school's star-athlete. And the prom king. His long gold hair was wound into a bun on the back of his head. The third one was almost as tall as the first, leaner, but still muscular, with honey colored hair. There was something intense about him, edgy. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

The lone girl was the complete opposite. She was short and pixie-like, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and styled like she had fallen right out of the twenties.

Totally different, and yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes—from here they looked black—despite the range in hair tones. There were deep shadows under those eyes— purplish, like bruises. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular.

But all this is not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful— maybe the blond prom king, or the bronze-haired boy. I mean, all of them were gorgeous, but the boy with the bronze hair was something more than just beautiful. He was absolutely perfect. It was an upsetting, disturbing kind of perfection. It made my stomach uneasy.

They were all looking away; away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. It reminded me of models posed artistically for an add—aesthetic ennui.

As I watched, the pixie girl rose with her tray— unopened soda, unbitten apple— and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the boys, who sat unchanging.

"Who arethey?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd couldn't remember.

As she looked up to see who I meant— though already knowing, probably, from my tone— suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face wasn't interested at all— it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in an involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Royal and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here— small-town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Isabella, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Isabella in my History class back home.

"They are… very nice-looking." I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

"Yes!" Isabella agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though— Jasper and Alice, I mean. There's even a rumor that Emmet and Royal are like, a thing. And they live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related.…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brothers, fraternal twins, I think— the blondes— and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Jasper and Royal are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice— for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Isabella admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today— he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but a complete waste of time. He doesn't date. Apparently no one here is good-looking enough for him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd turned her down.She must have been desperate .

I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful— even the big, brawny one and the golden prom king. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Isabella and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face— it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

I had been right about his eyes. They were black— coal black. Mrs. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, she had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like blueberry. How could that be offensive? I scooted my chair to the right, giving him as much space as I could, and nervously ran my fingers through my hair.

I leaned forward, resting my head in my hand, using it to block my face from him. I angled myself away, too, for good measure. I tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from glancing occasionally at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his pale skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brothers.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Isabella's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Eve.

I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phraseif looks could killsuddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose— he was much taller than I'd thought— his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so unnecessarily rude. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the confusion and anger that filled me. I felt tight knots in my stomach. I hadn't done anything wrong. How could I have? I hadn't actually even met him.

"Aren't you Jessica Stanley?" a male voice asked. I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully flat-ironed, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Jess," I corrected him, with a smile.

"I'm Mike."

"Hi, Mike."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer— he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I cringed. So Iwasn'tthe only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yeah," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him."

"He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading straight into the locker room. "If I were sitting by you, I would have talked to you.

I smiled at him and he quickly walked through the locker room door, I followed to the girls locker room slightly bemused. He was friendly and possibly liked me. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained— and inflicted— playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time— any other time. I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, waving through my hair. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me— his face was absurdly handsome— with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuinefear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice cracking. I could see I hadn't convinced her.

When I got to the car, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Jeffrey's house, grappling with the knots in my stomach till I was fighting tears.


	2. open book

The next day was better… and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Erica glaring at him all the while; which was kind of odd. People didn't look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Erica, Bella, and several other people whose names and faces I was starting to remember. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't dodge out of the way of the ball, I somehow managed to hit two of my teammates in the head with it. And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I was lying awake in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the Terminator.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Bella— trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely— I saw that his four adopted siblings were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them.

Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Bella seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment he would arrive. I hoped that he would simply ignore me when he came, and prove that I was just paranoid and making a big deal out of nothing.

He didn't come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn't there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces. I was starting to think I would have to do something about Mike; I wasn't entirely sure if his attention was just an overly eager friendliness or something else.

In a small town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I didn't tend to make a big deal of who I found attractive. It was just easier that way. Besides, it hadn't really mattered up to now. No one really paid attention to me in Texas, anyway.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn't there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I couldn't stop worrying that it was true.

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy-blue sweater. I hurried from the girls' locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed.

Last night I'd discovered that Jeffrey couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to let me take over. I also found out that he had no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course.

I hadn't noticed their clothes before— I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.

No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. Except they weren't like anyone else. I saw the big burly guy—Emmett—had his hand casually on the golden prom king's hip. Despite their obvious confidence, I couldn't help but feel surprised that he would do that in a small town like Forks. Looked like the rumors Isabella mentioned were true. The edgy blond boy caught me looking, and the way he narrowed his eyes made me turn straight ahead and punch the gas. The truck didn't go any faster, the engine just grumbled even louder.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Jeffrey wouldn't mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats, ran my fingers through my damp brown hair, and checked my e-mail for the first time. I had three messages.

"Jess," my mom wrote.

Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

"Jess," she wrote…

Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.

The last was from this morning.

Jessica Stanley, If I haven't heard from you by 5: 30 p.m. today I'm calling Jeffrey.

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.

Mom,

Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash.

Jess.

I sent that, and began again.

Mom,

Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch.

Your blouse is at the dry cleaners— you were supposed to pick it up Friday.

Jeffrey bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.

I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.

Jess.

I had decided to readWuthering Heights— the novel we were currently studying in English— yet again for the fun of it, and that's what I was doing when Jeffrey came home. I'd lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Jess?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, Dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved.

He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Jess."

"Thanks."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Isabella. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid— nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked hesitantly.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."

"They… the kids… are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

Jeffrey surprised me by looking angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him— lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature— I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should— camping trips every other weekend.… Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Jeffrey make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Jeffrey said, laughing. "It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the staff at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand— no dishwasher— I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.

Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot and dry.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn't totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Jeffrey, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mail. I did drive to the library on Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn't bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the Mustang got… and shuddered at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz onWuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy. All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ugh." Snow. There went my good day.

He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"Snow means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes— you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Erica, who was walking away, her back toward us— in the wrong direction for her next class. Mike apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. "Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."

He just nodded, his eyes on Erica's retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain— until it melted in your socks.

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Bella after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Bella thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting in his rapidly curling hair. He and Bella were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

Bella pulled on my arm.

"Hello? Jess? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Jess?" Mike asked Bella.

"Nothing," I answered. "I'll just get a soda today." I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Bella asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said, my eyes still on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mike make a concerned face, Bella discretely shuffled a few steps away from me. I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.

I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if Ishouldplay it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. Why was a freaking out? I was just being glared at. It wasn't like Edward Cullen was going to stab me with a knife.

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.

I kept my head down and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little.

They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Royal were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else— only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale, I decided— flushed from the snow fight maybe— the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Jess, what are you staring at?" Bella intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, his eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I quickly turned my head completely towards Isabella, shifting my shoulders in her direction, too. Isabella leaned back, surprised by my sudden movement.

I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time I'd seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Isabella giggled in my ear.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" I couldn't help asking.

"No," she said, sounding confused by my question. "Should he be?"

"I don't think he likes me," I confided. I still felt queasy. I felt like he was staring at me.

"The Cullens don't like anybody… well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at him," I insisted.

She snickered, but she looked away.

Mike interrupted us then— he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Isabella agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested, I wondered if Mike would notice her enthusiasm. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I'd made with myself. Since he didn't look angry, I would go to Biology. I started feeling knots in my stomach at the thought of sitting next to him again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Mike as usual— he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers— but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mrs. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled— even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Jess Stanley."

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.

He laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

"No," I persisted stupidly. "I meant, why did you call me Jess?"

He seemed confused. "Do you prefer Jessica?"

"No, I like Jess," I said. "But I think Jeffrey— I mean my dad— must call me Jessica behind my back— that's what everyone here seems to know me as," I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.

"Oh." He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Mrs. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as she explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.

"Get started," she commanded.

"After you, partner?" Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot.

He raised his eyebrows. "Or I could start, if you wish.

"No," I said, flushing. "I'll go ahead." I was showing off, just a little. I'd already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.

My assessment was confident. "Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.

"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

"Anaphase," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke.

I kept my voice indifferent. "Mind if I look?"

He smirked and pushed the microscope to me.

I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, he was right.

"Slide three?" I held out my hand without looking at him.

He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again. I took the most fleeting look I could manage.

"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn't want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table. Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him… unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in his face.

"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out unthinkingly. He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question.

"No."

"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

He shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he'd glared at me— the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. His hands were clenched into hard fists again.

Mrs. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren't working. She looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Edward, didn't you think Jessica should get a chance with the microscope?" Mrs. Banner asked.

"Jess," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, she identified three of the five."

Mrs. Banner looked at me now; her expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" she asked.

I smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Texas?"

"Yes."

"Well," she said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." She mumbled something else as he walked away. After she left, I began doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Isabella at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. Which was impossible. I really was becoming paranoid.

"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.

"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.

He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked me that— not straight out like he did, demanding.

"It's… complicated."

"I think I can keep up," he pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried," I said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me.

"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.

"No, Kevin is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

I couldn't understand his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.

"Kevin travels a lot. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.

"Have I heard of him?" he asked, smiling in response.

"Probably not. He doesn't playwell. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."

"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." He said it as an assumption again, not a question.

I straightened my shoulders automatically. "No, she didn't send me here. I sent myself."

His eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Jeffrey." My voice was glum by the time I finished.

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out.

"And?" I challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

I laughed once. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe Ihaveheard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.

"So that's all," I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way.

His gaze became appraising, he tilted his head slightly to the side.

"You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

I shrugged.

"Am I wrong?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I don't entirely understand you, that's all." he raised an eyebrow at me.

"Why would you want to?" I asked, frowning.

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself.

However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

I sighed, staring at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked. He sounded amused.

I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again. "Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read— my mother always calls me her open book." I shrugged.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything that I'd said and he'd guessed, he sounded like he meant it.

"You must be a good reader then," I replied.

"Usually." He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultra-white teeth.

Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I'd just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. He'd seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mrs. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were far away from the lecture.

When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him with my jaw hanging slightly open.

Mike rushed to my table almost as quickly. I imagined him with a wagging tail.

"That was awful," he groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Cullen for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. "I've done the lab before, though," I added before he could get his feelings hurt.

"Cullen seemed friendly enough today," he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it.

I tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with him last Monday."

I couldn't concentrate on Mike's chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E. didn't do much to hold my attention, either. Mike was on my team today. He helpfully covered my position as well as his own, so I only had to pay attention when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and ran my fingers through my damp hair.

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That's when I noticed the still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the mustang into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my old mustang would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I could swear I saw him laughing.

 **guys if anyone is reading this please review so I'll have motivation to continue**


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